


287 - Humanity, Amnesia & Babies

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Cute meet, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 11:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15460815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompts “Van finds a girl that he is madly in love with, she’s been there for him ever since the start and going on tours with him and now she wants to focus on her career as an Early Childhood Educator and seeing how great she is with children both of their parents are wanting grandchildren so they sit down and talk about their future together.” dream-out-loud-d and “you wake up in hospital next to Van and you’re dating him but you can’t remember anything?”Mini requests for Van buying a homeless person a meal or something kind, Van using the choo-choo train method of feeding his baby, and said baby breaking into the crayon stash and making the house art.





	287 - Humanity, Amnesia & Babies

All afternoon you’d watched people walk by him like he was completely invisible. He was across the road, sitting on the cold pavement outside the door of the convenience store. There was no begging or sign, although either would have been more than justifiable. He was merely existing. When you’d walked over to buy a stick of gum, you’d crouched down and offered him all the cash you had. It wasn’t just coins, but you still didn’t hesitate. It was only when you were back at the table out the front of the pub on the other side of the road that you wondered how you’d get around that week with all your bus money gone. Whatever; he needed it more.

“Been tryna’ get across town for a while now. This will be a real big help, love. Can’t thank you enough. Heard ‘bout a place that will lend us a suit and print of a bit of a resume, ya know? Try ta get a job,” he thanked.

“Hard market out there. Good luck, mate. Glad I could help,” you replied with a smile.

“What’s ya name, love?”

“Y/N. Nice to meet you,” you said, offering him a hand.

There was a heartbreaking look on his face that suggested he wasn’t often invited to shake hands. Tentatively, he took yours and shook. “Nice to meet you too, Y/N. Bless ya. I’m Harry, but me mates call me Zombie,”

“Zombie?! Bet there’s a story in that,” you replied, laughing a little.

“Yeah, yeah. There is, but another time. You head on over to ya friends now. Really appreciate your help.”

What you did was the bare minimum, yet you were the only one to do it. For a second, your ego inflated. It was only a second. Guilt washed in, as strong as a tsunami. The privilege you did have had deluded you into thinking that giving someone living homeless a twenty was a godly act. You’d said it yourself - it was the bare minimum 

There were three tables outside the pub. Your friends and you occupied one since late afternoon. It was Friday, and as your social circle finished work, they came to join you at the pub. Some dropped by before hospitality shifts. People came and went as they pleased. You remained the backbone, making sure there was a jug on the table and cups for all. The table next to yours was occupied by a group of guys. A few of them seemed vaguely familiar. The pub was your local; it probably was theirs too. The third and final table was not yet occupied, a rare thing at the popular pub.

As one of your friends was recounting a day of hell in retail, your attention flicked over to the next table. One of the guys stood, crossed the street, and took a seat next to Harry. Trying not to stare, you alternated between listening to your friend and keeping an eye on the conversation happening out the front of the convenience store. For five minutes, the skinny indie kid with fluffy hair seemed to be highly invested in Harry. Then, to your surprise, they both stood and walked back to the table next to yours, taking seats. Like he was being introduced as a mate, Harry shook hands with everyone and was poured a beer by the indie kid. That was it. You couldn’t focus on anything else.

Harry stayed with the guys for an hour or so. When food arrived, steaks and chips for all, he was hesitant to accept the indie kid’s already-done offer of buying him dinner. There was clear warmth there though. What do you call a group of men? A threat. Haha. But, the guys at the table didn’t seem like that. Whenever you overheard their banter, it was always so benign and kinda hilarious. They obviously didn’t make Harry feel uncomfortable, because by the end of the hour he was fed and full, feeling supported rather than pitied.

All the guys called a, “Bye, Zombie, mate! Good luck!” as Harry left the table and walked off down the street.

Not satisfied with what you had observed, you made an excuse about needing to pee so you could walk past the table and listen to their post-Harry conversation. It wasn’t that you expected them to be laughing at him or questioning the indie kid on what the fuck he was doing, but it had all been so out of the ordinary that your curiosity was in the driver’s seat of your brain.

As you walked by the guys, you accidentally made eye contact with the indie kid. His eyes were piercing blue, and his entire face was a beacon of pure happiness. You looked away before he could smile or say anything or look away first.

Relived to find nobody else in the bathroom, you didn’t have to go into a stall and awkwardly go through the motions. Instead, you stood in front of the wall that had become home to graffiti so heavy that it was getting hard to read. The gender-neutral toilets were the pages of poets and the scripture of drunks. It was always fun to read the updates.

When you left the bathroom, you were greeted by someone waiting for you. He was playing the pinball machine by the toilet door, something you’d never seen anyone do in all the time you’d been going to the bar. That probably had something to do with the proximity to said toilet door. But, there he was. Indie kid. You went to walk by, not assuming his presence there was anything but coincidence, but he stopped you with a greeting.

“'Ello, love,” he said cheerily. The ball hit the left flipper at a bad angle with not enough force. Instead of flicking back up into the game, it fell into the well and the lights went off. The guy didn’t seem upset; he turned his whole body to face you, leaning on the machine casually.

“Ah… hi,”

“Sorry, but I was just wonderin’ if there was somethin’ I could help ya with, you know what I mean?” The tone of his voice was friendly, but it was still obvious he was baiting you into something. The smirk he punctuated his sentence with was visual mischief. When you didn’t reply, just cocked your head and looked him up and down, he made a strange little laughing sound then stood up straight. “Seen you watchin’ us all day. Just thinkin’, 'cause some of me mates are real good people, that if you fancied one of them, I could be ya wingman.”

Indie kid was unequivocally beautiful. It may have been his kindness you first noticed, but it hadn’t been lost on you how pretty his freckles were, or how soft his hair looked. You liked his boots and his black denim jacket. Standing opposite you, so close after watching him from afar, you couldn’t read his emotions any better. The sincerity of his offer was entirely indeterminate.

“Not into any of your mates,” you told him with a nod of your head.

“You was watching us though.” Although it wasn’t a question, it was a statement that he was seeking confirmation of. Instead of giving him that, you shrugged and smiled. It probably came off as far more sly than you meant it too. Indie kid smiled wide. You liked his teeth; two bunny teeth sat at the front of his mouth, flanked by baby vampire fangs. “My new mate Zombie says you gave him a couple of tenners. Shook the man’s hand. Says you was the first nice person he’s talked to in a while. Made his day, you did,”

“I think you might have done that with the steak and chips,”

“Steak and chips will make anybody’s day. 'Specially from here. That gravy is just gorgeous,” he said, raising a hand and forming an ok sign with his hand. Now that - that was sincere. It made you laugh and it lowered your defences.

“I wasn’t watching you and ya friends for like… spying on the boys kind of thing,” you tried to explain. He laughed and made a mocking expression, like he was saying 'oh, yeah, sure.’ “Honestly. I wasn’t. I was just… interested in what you were doing with, ah, Zombie,”

“Thought we’s were going do something nasty?”

“No… No, you don’t seem like that type. Heard yous talking about Bake Off,” you replied.

“Did ya watch it this week?! That soda one?! Honestly, they’re like… artist, you know what I mean?”

“I know. I hope she wins. She’s amazin’. She’s so nice too,” you agreed.

“Yeah. Total darling…” He looked at you, biting his bottom lip without noticing. You noticed. “Where are my manners? My name’s Van. And you’re Y/N,” Van introduced, offering his hand like he had Zombie, who you assumed gave your name to Van like a gift he didn’t know he needed.

…

When you met Van, you were only twenty. He was twenty-two and on the cusp of making all his dreams come true. Since graduating you’d spent most of your time reading books and picking flowers. When your family got sick of paying your way, bored of your promises that you’d figure out what it was you wanted to do, you paid your share house rent with café work and as much babysitting jobs as you could get. You’d always liked children; their brutal honesty and uncapped creativity kept you entertained. Then, after Van, you were whisked into a life of touring.

Life on the road was almost completely perfect. Van bought you a Kindle, and days, months, years flew by in a haze of poetry, rock and roll, and mad love. You didn’t even contemplate the future. Van had it all mapped out and you trusted him entirely. Two albums in and Catfish were conquering the world. Each tour cycle went further than you’d ever been and it felt like the boys were good enough to keep you all on the road until infinity. It was only a freak accident that disrupted that flow.

Sometimes when Van was off at interviews that you and Larry weren’t allowed to be at, you’d help the roadies set up for the night’s show. Your version of help was really just shadowing them, providing banter and gossip. On the day of the accident, a few people had spent the morning throwing up. Big night. So, you’d opted to help out even though Van had saved you a seat in the Uber to the radio station. “Always been such a good girl,” he said, kissing you through the car window and waving you goodbye.

On the stage of the venue, you watched Joe put together Bob’s kit. It was on its own transportable platform, easily wheeled forward after the opening act was done. Joe set it up in the middle of the stage though, and as you stood and took a couple of steps backwards, you tripped over cables that hadn’t been taped down yet. Instead of screaming as you fell, you made a strange squeaking sound. Joe didn’t even hear it. He only jumped after you when he heard the sickening thud of your head hitting the hard floor. You’d fallen off the stage and remained entirely unconscious while everyone scrambled to help. An ambulance was called. People yelled at each other, trying to work out if they should hold your head or not move you at all. When blood started to trickle out from underneath, soaking your hair and the knees of the jeans closest to you, the guys began to panic. Would you be okay? Who would be the one to tell Van?

…

Before the fear and confusion set in, there was pain. As soon as your eyelids peeled apart, stuck with sleep and tears, the light of the hospital room shot white needles into your brain. You whimpered, which drew the attention of the people in the room. That’s when you felt fear. Waking up in a room full of strangers will do that to a girl.

“Baby?” one of them said, rushing to your side and taking your hand. Too weak to stop him, you just watched in horror as he kissed the back of your hand over and over.

“I’ll get the doctor,” another said, walking away.

The third guy stayed sitting, watching you with a worried expression that made you feel uncomfortable. His leg was bouncing up and down, and he was chewing his lip. When your eyes met his, he tried for a smile, but when you didn’t, his face set back into the angst.

There was relief when the doctor appeared. Her white coat felt like safety. She came to stand next to the one holding your hand.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Y/N,” you answered easily.

“And can you tell me where you are?”

Immediately, you opened your mouth to answer. But you couldn’t. Where were you? The panic washed over you and you sat up too fast, making the pain in your head squeeze your brain. Yelping, you scrambled back into the bed, your back hitting the headboard.

“Babe-” the hand holder said, moving to you. He was aiming for comfort but a stranger couldn’t provide that.

“Go away,” you whined, closing your eyes and pulling your knees to your chest.

“I think it might be best if you guys wait out in the family room?” the doctor said softly. Family? You didn’t see it, but each of the three men seemed hurt by the suggestion, but none more than the one close to you. He nodded though and was taken from the room by his friends. “Y/N,” she said, pulling a chair up to your side. “You’ve been in an accident. You hit your head hard, but from what we can tell there isn’t any permanent damage. Do you remember what happened?”

“No,” you whispered.

“What is the last thing you remember?”

There wasn’t an easy answer. There were memories, but they were fragmented and cloudy. Family. You could remember your family.

“I'm… moving out of home… 'cause it’s been long enough since I left school,” you answered.

The doctor’s beautifully fluffy eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “What… year do you think it is, Y/N?”

That was an easy one. “2013.”

Her poker face was diminishing in strength at a rapid rate. There was conflict in her expression as she tried to decide what the best course of action was. You’d lost five years. The reaction to that wouldn’t be good.

“Okay. And, do you have any pain right now? A headache?”

You wanted to ask if why her face was doing that. And who were those guys? Where were you? Had someone called your family? The pain in your head was too great though, and you couldn’t let the opportunity for help to be wasted. “Hurts,” you said, tears running down your cheeks.

“I bet. I’ll get a nurse in here to hook up some relief for you. Now that you’re awake, we’ll run a few more tests. Most of the important ones were done when you came into the E.R. I’ll make sure someone goes through the results with you. Not right now though. Need some more rest. Is there anything else I can do for you, Y/N?”

“Is someone calling home?”

The doctor breathed out like she’d been waiting for you to say it. It wasn’t something she was looking forward to.

…

The nurse that gave you the pain meds had the same accent as the doctor. What were the odds of that? Two Americans from somewhere South in Chester, U.K.? It didn’t even occur to you that maybe you were the one out of place. Maybe because the guys that were there while you slept were all English. And, there were no other signs to tell you that you were anywhere but home, anywhere but in 2013.

2018 though, was knocking at the door.

“Doctor says I can come see if you if want,” he said. You watched him linger in the doorway, not sure what to do.

“Did you find me?” you asked him.

His head snapped up when you spoke and a smile almost found his mouth. He took one step into the room, but no more than that. “What do ya mean?”

“She said I had an accident. I fell. Were you the one to find me? You and your friends?”

The guy had blue eyes. You watched as they welled up with tears and he rubbed his face along the sleeve of his black button up shirt. The expression on his face was hurt. You didn’t know him, but even you could identify that. He pulled one of the plastic chairs from its resting place against the wall and sat it next to your bed. Sniffling a little, he shook his head.

“No. You were with Joe,” he told you.

“Who’s Joe?” you asked.

Instead of answering immediately, he searched for something in your face. “The one with glasses… that was here before.”

You nodded, remembering him with his shaking leg and chewed lip. “The sad one,”

“He’s just worried about you. We all are.”

That made you feel weird. Uncomfortable. You didn’t need to remind him that you didn’t know him or his friends, because you could see it on his face. But there was a familiarity in his expressions. Something about him felt… known. Maybe that was just the fact that he looked like all the stupid band dude boys you’d made up in your head and dreamed of marrying. Even sitting in a plastic hospital chair, looking sleep deprived and scared, he was beautiful. Whoever did actually know him was lucky.

“Doctor says that you might remember. Maybe not everything. But the important stuff, you know,”

“What… Who are you?”

“You really don’t remember anything? You don’t know who I am?” he asked but it sounded like a beg. You felt guilty for hurting him even though you didn’t know how you’d achieved that. He was stressing you out, making you panic. What had you forgotten? What was he talking about?

Shaking your head, you sat up and pulled your knees to your chest again. “I want to see the doctor,” you whispered.

He looked defeated but he nodded. As he stood and left the room, he spoke again. Gently. Hopefully. “I’m Van. You know me.”

…

Retrograde amnesia. You’d lost 2014 and 15 and 16 and 17 and 18 and Van and an entire new life. Apparently. She showed you the test results and explained it all. She calmed you down and let you cry and told you your family were already on a flight over to the States.

“With results like this, we would anticipate a great deal of your memories to come back,” she said finally, offering a smile.

“Is he still out there?”

“Yes. Van hasn’t left the hospital since he arrived. That was days ago,”

“He's…”

“According to him, and all the people that have come to see you while you were unconscious, the love of your life. He’s a handsome young thing. If you have to fall in love with someone again, at least you’ve got a good one,” she said in an attempt to make you laugh.

…

Your family insisted on Van being there as much as they were. They stayed in the same hotel as him. They treated him like a son. Apparently, he knew you better than they did though. As you sat in the hospital bed, day in, day out, listening to them update you on the last five years, only Van could see when you were overwhelmed. He knew how to distract your family. He knew when you wanted water or another pillow behind your back or a hair tie. He knew you. And, fuck, did you want to know him.

Van was entirely charming. He was sweet but blunt. He was kind but realistic. A dreamer. A believer in having hope. Van was gorgeous, even with the greasy hair and pimple breakout from days trapped in your hospital room. There were times where he’d fall asleep by your side, head hanging on a bad angle and his mouth open a little. Even then he was special.

It was easy to find your love for Van. You’d never say it out loud - it sounded too cliché - but you were sure you’d not really forgotten that feeling. Everything in your brain had been all shaken up and it was just a matter of putting things back in place. And, once that process started, it was easier and easier to remember. Still, you were a little dramatic by nature and liked to fuck with people - Van most of all.

It was in your last week in the hospital. You could go home on Friday, back to the U.K. All your files had been sent over and specialists there were prepared for your eventual arrive. All that was left to do was decide if you’d stay with your family or go back to your home with Van. Everybody wanted you back with Van. There were a range of reasons for that, but it was an overwhelming consensus. Van was careful not to pressure you. Every step forward was taken with slight trepidation but true faith.

He arrived on Tuesday morning to the hospital looking clean and well slept. He was the first visitor of the day and he walked into the room with café coffees and what you hoped were hot bagels. He smiled his 'seeing Y/N for the first time today’ smile and pulled up a seat next to the bed.

“Hey, love. How ya feeling?” he asked. So much pep in his verbal step.

You knew it was cruel, but you had to get some sort of enjoyment from all the trauma. When you didn’t answer his question, Van stopped unpacking his offerings and looked at you. Immediately, his happy expression fell and he searched for recognition in your face.

“Who… are you?” you whispered. Van’s blue eyes welled up within a second. His bottom lip began to shake and you immediately regretted your decision. Jumping from the bed, you threw yourself at him. “I’m sorry!” you said sincerely, but couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry! No! Van!”

“That was fucked up,” he mumbled into you, standing up to hold you tighter to him. Van didn’t let go and you didn’t wriggle your way out of his arms. It was the longest you’d let him have you.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, eyes closed and entirely warm.

“Mmm,”

“I'm… I must be different, right? I’m not… not the girl that you know,” you said, kind of just thinking out loud.

“You are different, yeah. Changed heaps since I first met ya,”

“So… why do you still-”

“Love you?” Van asked. “You’re not the girl you turned into, but you're… you. You’re just the version I fell in love with in the first place. You’re not like a whole new person or anythin’. Not startin’ from nothing.”

Was it all harder for you or him? Who had suffered more? Who had more sleepless nights and anxiety-riddled days?

…

Van wanted to buy a place closer to the hospital. He wanted to do a lot of things that he thought would help you, but you didn’t mind the drive and the doctors said usual environments were more likely to trigger memories. So, you went back to the house that you and Van had called home. When you tried, you could never accurately describe what it felt like.

You didn’t really recognise the place. Some of the things that filled the rooms were yours, you knew that. Childhood toys and teenage sentimentality helped you to trust the place. The rest of it you had to slow familiarise yourself with again. Van gave you space to do that but he was never far away with a story about wild nights and wintery days. You felt jealous of the girl he described and the life she led. Although it wasn’t perfect - Van said you worried about your family’s expectations a lot, even if you would never admit it - it was so full of love.

It was mostly easy to fall into routine with Van. To strangers, you seemed like a regular couple. The only thing missing was real intimacy. Yeah, there was cuddling on the couch. You shared a bed; Van always waited for you to fall asleep first. He wasn’t sure why. That was it. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell Van everything. He was one of those rare people that made you want to spill your guts to. And it wasn’t that you didn’t want to kiss him again. Learn how he liked to be touch. Remember how he touched you. It was more that all those things took time. They couldn’t be forced.

As days turned into weeks and a couple months rolled by, you began to doubt a lot of the truths you’d been told about yourself. Van was getting Little Mary ready for a walk. You watched him, uneasy at the relative benignity of your life. With the exception of joining Van on tour (something you now equated to going on a work trip with your husband to), you weren’t sure what your life was.

“Van?” you asked as he put Mary’s harness on. “Did I really not have a plan?”

Clipping Mary’s lead on, Van stood up and looked at you. His head tilted a little. “What do ya mean?”

“It’s like it just happened, you know? Like, it feels like I was in the café yesterday. And babysitting. I remember not really knowing what I wanted to do. Mum says I never had a plan. Even after you. She said we had fights about it and everything. 'Bout how my life was just… being with you. But… I'm… Is that really it? I didn’t want to do anything else?”

He hesitated, started chewing his lip. Van looked down at Mary, who was waiting patiently for her promised walk. When he looked back up at you, his expression was a mixing pot of emotion. “Sounds bad when you say it like that… You know what I mean? You were never bored. Or unhappy. At least… I didn’t think you were. Never said you were,”

“I don’t think I was either. I don’t mean…” You sighed and stood up. He watched you walk to him. “I’ve got this weird… vague feeling. Sometimes it’s like… she’s talking to me. I know that sounds a bit mad, but, I don’t know. When I was eighteen, nineteen, I really didn’t know what I wanted to do. I know that’s true. But it doesn’t feel right anymore. I thought maybe I’d decided something since then.”

It would have been a bold statement to say you knew Van well. However, it would have been accurate to say that there were parts of him that were parts of you and therefore you had an innate understanding. For example, at that moment you knew he was not saying something. Hiding something.

“We only talked 'bout… that a couple of times,” he settled on.

“What do you mean 'that’?”

“Ah, well… The future and all that, we talked about a lot,” he replied. A smile flashed across his face. It was warm and nostalgic and you were jealous of her again. “But whatever we planned, it was never like… you working or doing anything else,”

“What did we plan?”

There was only one emotion then. Grief. He’d lost something. He didn’t want to answer the question. “We… We were gonna start a family… Have babies… Uh, we… this… We weren’t gonna try when we got back from this tour.”

It hurt to hear and it hurt to know it was completely true. You’d always loved kids and in your efforts to know Van again, you’d watched countless interviews on YouTube of him talking about his future family. How did it not all connect in your head?

Only a second had passed before you replied to Van. Without so much as a thought, you said, “We will. We’ll have a baby. We’ll get there.”

…

“Uh… babe? You got mail,” Van said, looking down at the envelopes in his hands.

“Fuck!” You forgot to check the letterbox while he was out. It had been almost a year since you returned to London after the accident. In that time you had recovered a lot of lost memories, but not enough that you were who you once were. That was okay though. You learnt how not to be jealous of her; mostly that was achieved through Van speaking about her and you as one in the same. You had also spent days and days soul searching about not just past Y/N but future Y/N too.

In secret, you had sat the bridging tests needed to apply for university. In secret, you had celebrated your success. In secret, you had applied for courses in Early Childhood Development and Education. Now uncontrollable, the next step would be shared with Van.

“These are from universities. Did you… Are you?”

“Can you open them for me? This one first,” you said, taking the three envelopes and giving him one back.

Van confused was one of your favourite types of Van. The head tilt. The weird little smile. But, he rolled with it, nodding and ripping open the paper. “Do you want me to read it out loud?” he asked as he scanned for the important bits. You shook your head no and squeezed your eyes shut. “Alright… Uhhh…” The suspense was physically painful. “Bachelor of Education, Early Childhood? You want to be a teacher?”

“Van, just fuckin’ tell me if I got in!”

“Sorry! Okay. Uh…” Van read through, mumbling at a rapid rate until he got to the only relevant sentence. “We are pleased to welcome you into the program. Congratulations.”

Your eyes opened wide and you went dead still. Van could hear you breathing loudly and you could only hear your own heartbeat drumming in your ears. “I… got my first preference,” you stated.

Van was still in shock about the entire situation. He’d lose his shit and celebrate you soon. All he could do then was say, “You’re going to university,”

“Yeah… And, I think I’m pregnant,”

“What?!”

…

“Do you get some sort of extra credit for havin’ a baby?” Van asked you, holding Evan on his hip.

“No, but I feel like I should. Maybe I’ll email one of the course coordinators,”

“Maybe if we send 'em a real cute picture?” Van suggested, looking at his daughter with the biggest heart eyes you’d ever seen. “Yeah? A real cute picture of ya? What do you think? Reckon you can get Mummy some extra credit? Ex-tra-credit!” Evan laughed loudly at the syllables. Van put her in the high chair and stood in front of her.

“She won’t eat the peas one,”

“Evan won’t eat the peas one?! How’s she gonna grow big and strong without ya veggies?” He held the spoon to Evan’s mouth. Absolutely no chance. “Come on, Ev. Don’t wanna be a skinny thing like ya Da. Wanna be like…”

“Uncle Bob?” you suggested.

“Uncle Bob!” Evan giggled at that. “Yeah! You love Uncle Bob. And he’s built like a Greek god. And it’s all 'cause he eats his peas.” Nothing. “You gonna make me break out the choo-choo-train?

Evan went still and her mouth opened a little. Like Van’s sometimes did, her head tilted a little to the side. "Choooooooooo,” she cooed.

“Oh, we like that, huh? Choo-choo?” Van repeated.

“Chooooooo!” Evan squealed.

“Alright! He comes the choo-choo-train! All aboard!”

You watched Van make weird train noises as he walked around in circles, pulling on an invisible something that was probably meant to represent the horn’s pull cord. Evan laughed. Eventually, the train made its way around the kitchen table, over to you for a quick kiss on the cheek, and back to the baby. With her mouth open from laughing, Van delivered the mushy pea cargo and laughed as his firstborn’s face screwed up in distaste. The cycle would need to be repeated for each mouthful and by the end of it, Van would probably be covered in the green goo. Evan definitely would be.

“Okay, well… have fun with this. And wish me luck, yeah?” you said as you slung your backpack over your shoulder.

“Wait. Come 'ere,” Van ordered, putting the food down and walking to you. “Good luck. You’ll kill it. Exams ain’t nothing compared to raisin’ a baby,”

“Or raisin’ a baby and studying at the same time,” you added.

“Or losing your memory and havin’ to work it all out again,”

“Mmm. You’re right. Exams don’t have anything on me,” you said smiling.

“That’s my girl!” Van took your chin in his hand and pulled your face to his. His kiss was all for you and it was full of luck.

…

Van kept writing music. He had a lot of material. While Catfish’s fate had been unknown for so long, each of the members pursuing other things while Van and you learnt how to be Van you again, Van found himself back in the studio and back in front of his band. They couldn’t tour like they used to, but that wasn’t just a result of you and Evan. All the guys had lives and families and things that meant they didn’t want to spend three quarters of the year gone.

In the beginning, juggling university and motherhood were impossible tasks without Van playing stay-at-home Dad. But, with the small fortune Van had been saving for his babies his whole life, you could afford childcare. And, there were a lot of friends and family that wanted to babysit. Evan was just that damn cute.

Even though could cope without Van home, you didn’t like it. You were happier when he was home. Evan was too. Sometimes though, she had funny ways of showing it.

Evan was four and wild and creative and beautiful. You and Van were tired. Totally a parenting no-no, but probably far more common than anyone admits, you and Van fell asleep on the couch a few nights into his return home from tour. The nap was only fifteen minutes long but it was enough. Evan woke you both up, poking at Van’s face, who subsequently moved, waking you.

“What’s up, love?” he asked her.

“Dada, come,” she said, taking steps backwards and trying to lead him from the room.

You both sleepily followed her out into the hallway of your home. In your time on university preschool placements, you’d seen it all. Although you’d just started your job as a teacher, even that short time had provided you with a lot of weird and wonderful moments with kids. When you saw what Evan had done, you just nodded and left the room, returning to the couch.

“Uh…” Van started. You listened to them interact. “What… the fuck, Ev?” Van was the one that said no swearing in front of her. You sniggered. “What’s all this then?” he asked her.

“For Dada,”

“For me? Well… um, it's… beautiful. Very pretty. But, um, remember how when we do art we do it on paper?”

“Big!” she called.

Van couldn’t help but laugh. They returned to the room, Van carrying her, bouncing her dramatically on his hip. You wondered when she’d get too big for that. With Evan on the floor, drawing pad and crayons too, Van climbed back onto the couch with you. Lying all tangled up, watching her play, your eyelids felt heavy again. Letting them shut, you snuggled down into Van, who was aimlessly playing with your hair with one hand and holding you tight with his other arm.

Since the accident, Van had begun to hold you tighter. Of course, you didn’t know any different. You didn’t know all the ways he’d changed. How he held on to you tighter. How he loved you louder. How he thanked God every day for you.

Van gasped suddenly, jolting your eyes open and forcing you to look up at him. It wasn’t enough of an event to drag Evan from her art; she remained focused on the… cat? on her page. Van looked at you.

“I cannot fuckin’ believe this,” he said, clearly outraged. You just kept looking at him. He wasn’t on the phone. The room hadn’t changed. What could have happened? “I’ve never told you how we met,”

“What? Yeah you did. At that bar I used to go to with my friends from back then,”

“Yeah, but no,” Van replied, sitting up and disturbing your comfortable position. “I haven’t told you the whole story. With Zombie and the pinball machine. Here. Sit. I’ll tell you. How come you ain’t asked about this?”

“I… don’t know. There’s just so much…”

“Yeah. This one’s important though. So, you was at the pub, right, and I think… Yeah, you were there with friends, but it was like… Rotating. People came and went. I pretended then that I didn’t notice ya kind of thing. Pretended I just noticed you noticin’ me,”

“Sounds like you,”

“Oi! Cheeky… Across the road was a guy and you went over to talk to him…”


End file.
